Dear Darling
by King1554
Summary: A woman writing to her husband during the world's most feared apocolypse explains what events are taking place at home. This is her survival tactics in a world so unaware of how to cope, how to survive in a Hell.
1. Chapter 1

Darling

Thank you ever so much for responding back. I know times have been, well, not easy, but we will pull through. I can't lie; the red river and toxic air are starting to nag at my innards. No matter how much blood I see, I still think of you, of what you said.

"It's going to be all right, love. They'll lose their appetite eventually."

That piece of hope still ensnares me. I do hope you are doing well, though. Everything is growing darker day by day. We are prohibited to go outside anymore. Too dangerous. But I still sneak my way to the mailbox. For you. After awhile I stopped receiving letters from you. No worry, I still have managed to find communication with you.

Even though your stamps are proving to be heavily outdated, I still anticipate that rusted orchid on the top right hand corner of your envelopes. The orchid helps me know that there was a past before all this tragedy. Your stamps, delivered with your message, paints more hope into my doubting brain of hunger and peril.

Darling, I can't lie, I'm growing more frightened every day. All the moaning coming from outside of our windows, I don't dare look out. Last time I stole a glance I saw… it shouldn't even be uttered. I witnessed a baby's corpse being dragged by his mother who was limping severely and vomiting so many fluids. Everyone else is scared here too. But I keep reminding them, "They'll lose their appetite eventually."

Darling, when is eventually?

With great love throughout all the grey in this damned world,

Margaret


	2. Chapter 2

Darling,

Are you still safe? The day they called you in, I held back all the tears. I don't think I'm being selfish; I just want to know you're safe.

Last night they found three more bodies floating in the fountain in our town's square. It's this bloody virus. The cemeteries are off limits and they will not tell us why.

Oh, Darling, you are safe right? I am constantly worrying for your safety and that you can come home. For the past three weeks a family of four has been living with me. They told me about this man who has died for us a long time ago. This family calls him Jesus. This family isn't afraid, they're confident and courageous. I do not understand this faith that this family has brought into our house.

I don't believe them when they tell me that this dead man has died for us so long ago. He doesn't know us; I've never met him. This family is so sure that this dead man will save us all from this unknown abhorrent plight. I believe that we may burn here. Darling, I'm afraid we are all going to die. I can no longer sleep. The screaming coming from outside makes me shiver in our bed. Please, write back soon. I desperately miss you.

With all my shaken love,

Margaret


	3. Chapter 3

Dear Darling,

You have written back and you are doing well!

I wish I could say the same for myself. Do not worry; we are only running low on food. I, nor this family, have eaten meat for weeks. How I pine for one of your delicious steaks. I often tell the family about you and your valiant heroism. Oh, when will you be back? If you could send any meat, any kind of food at all, we would greatly appreciate it.

Lately, I've been fantasizing over what the parents' children would taste like. Plump and soft they are, the children would make a mouth watering stew. At night when I am unable to sleep, I think about how I would prepare the young tyrants. As I shove them into the oven the kids would be singing those hymns their parents have taught them.

Today they gave me a Bible. You know how polite I always am, I couldn't refuse the book. Flipping through the thick book it read nothing about an end for this virus or how to prepare children into delectable stew. Darling, I do not understand this family's obsession with these ancient stories and this dead man named Jesus. If I don't procure any food soon I will have no choice but to ask this family to leave because I can no longer provide for them. Their superstitions make me uneasy, but that hope they have is far from pernicious. No malevolence or malice rests in their hearts like mine. They are a conundrum I am unable to solve.

All the dead bodies are just an olfactory smell of death now. Do you know what is happening? This family describes it as Hell and I think I agree with them. I swear I saw Mr. James Huntoon on our front door step last week. The man has been dead seven years, and he looked it too. I would not let him no matter how loud his unintelligible shouts became.

Throughout all this confusion, I still love and miss you, Darling.

Margaret


	4. Chapter 4

Darling,

As fall rolls into winter you have still yet to return home. I don't dare start a fire to warm our house because I don't want any of them knowing that I'm still alive. These sick people I don't consider human beings anymore. It must have been only a dream, but I saw a man eating a severed arm. Darling, tell me everything is going to be all right. I'm afraid that they aren't going to lose their appetites.

And this family that has been in our home for over a month now is constantly thanking that dead man, Jesus. What is there to be thankful for? They are unlike anyone I have ever seen, and I think they are beginning to grow on me. Sometimes I still fantasize about the children's meaty flavor with nice, rich gray; but I cannot send them away.

This morning an enormous rapt was coming from the front door. The father woke up and went to assess the situation. The mother, children, and I listened from our bedroom upstairs. When the father creaked the door open the most disgusting noise came from the unexpected visitor. It was as if he was snorting and coughing all at once. The father raised the shotgun he had brought to the door and pulled the trigger. We had the children's ears plugged long before. I cried into the mother's arms for hours; I was so embarrassed but I was so deeply terrified. Darling, what is going to happen to all of us?

Please, write back as soon as you receive this letter,

Margaret


	5. Chapter 5

Darling,

Again, you have written back to inform me about the wonderful progress you are making. Does this mean you may be able to return home soon? Unfortunately, conditions only seem to be getting worse here at home. Food continues to dwindle and we are constantly hungry. As of two nights ago, we stored as much water as we could into our dining room. There have been rumors that the water may become contaminated with the virus. I haven't slept in weeks. Maybe I'll receive a restful hour or two but I am always thinking about you and those monsters outside. They haunt my thoughts and my dreams.

This family still prays throughout the day to that dead man. I must admit, last night I got to my knees on our bedside and said a few words to this Jesus. The prayer did not last long, for I was too self conscience about if I were doing this right and if someone would see me. I asked the man, who apparently died for us, to bring you back and stop all this horrific nonsense. But you're still not here and this human downfall is still ever present. Maybe I'll try it again tonight.

The stench here is awful. Not only that, bodies littered everywhere. Some bodies I swear get up and move. Walking corpses looking for food or life. I'm beginning to think that this is no longer a vision, but reality.

Darling, what if Jesus is real?

Come home soon. Love,

Margaret


	6. Chapter 6

Darling,

This family and I have been dumbstruck with worry. Two days ago the father sent out his son, Isaac, to find food. The cupboards are nearly bare with dust and cobwebs. I still wonder why the father sent his son to perform this dangerous task. Isaac is a young lad, shy of fifteen. As persistent as the father was, his son was eager to carry out this assignment for food. Isaac continually said that this was his final challenge into entering manhood. Darling, I think the young boy is perplexed by his father. He left our house to embrace all the death of the world outside. Each hour that passes I grow more stressed with anticipation and defeat. On the outside, the family appears confident and hopeful in Isaac; but inside they are just as worried as I am.

Darling, this is nothing like me, but I found myself praying for the boy's safety. Praying to Jesus, the dead man this family calls everyone's Savior. Before Isaac left to be sacrificed his father said a prayer for his son's valiant quest. The father and this family are still so faithful to this Jesus. Why? Why trust in a man who is dead, just like the traveling corpses outside our home?

I continue to look forward to your anxious return, but be safe. Each day becomes more dangerous with winter's growing frost.

With love,

Margaret


	7. Chapter 7

Darling,

I assume that you have not had the time to write back. How are you holding up on duty?

The most tragic thing has happened, Darling. This very morning I heard a rummaging coming from our front porch. Without startling the family's slumber, I made my way to our front door. Footsteps faded as I opened the door. Many boxes and small barrels of food lay on our front doorstep. The family heard the door open and found the copious amount of food as well. The family called this a blessing, a gift from God. Looking through the boxes something caught my curious eye. Bright and dry, specks of blood stains the out the outer edges of one of the boxes. The father saw the blood as well. Instantly, he looked out across the street, in the trees, a field, and around our house. His son, Isaac, was nowhere to be found.

We have yet to witness Isaac turn up back at our home. We all know the blood is Isaac's, but how do we know for sure? The family grieves, but then gives thanks. Thanks for what though? Their son is more than likely dead and they're thanking a dead man! I ask the mother how they could be thankful and believe in a man who has died years ago. This family is sick and twisted, Darling.

The mother tells me that this Jesus isn't dead, but alive. After being crucified he arose again with eternal life. They are giving thanks for this food sent from Jesus himself. They are thankful because their son, Isaac, is most likely with Jesus now, not lost in this world filled with pain and suffering.

Darling, come home quickly. Please, save me from these lunatics and all this nonsense.

Margaret


	8. Chapter 8

Darling,

Thank you for replying. It is such a relief to hear that you will get to come home soon! I desperately need your stern strength to scold this crazy family about all this insanity. I thought by staying inside I would be safe from the catastrophe outside. Instead, there is no longer any safety in this house.

The family refers to Jesus' living again as a resurrection. The mother talks about how he is reborn to save. All of us. This man we have never met apparently loves us with all his heart. He died for us, but we never asked him to die! We still have to endure this terrible mess of monsters, when this family claims that Jesus has saved us and is protecting us. But who was protecting Isaac? If Jesus is alive then how come we cannot see him?

I must admit, Darling, the more I learn about this man the more I want to trust him. Does that sound crazy? It's ineffable. I know this family doesn't think that sounds crazy. The longer this fatal epidemic is surviving the more insanity seems to be reality. Darling, I am watching dead bodies feed on other dead bodies then collapsing back in to their graves. A few days ago when I humored myself in praying again, a small voice spoke to me. The tone rang in my ear and was neither loud nor quiet. The voice told me to trust in him. Do you believe that maybe it could have been Jesus speaking to me? I was too afraid to ask the family.

As far as outside goes, some corpses are beginning to scratch at our windows and trying to break in. I know they are dead because some are missing entire body parts and the smell. Oh, that wretched smell.

Maybe you can try praying to Jesus.

I love you, Darling.

Margaret


	9. Chapter 9

Darling,

Since the hope of Isaac ever returning is diminishing, my hope of your returning home has been diminishing as well. When I saw that rusted orchid I kissed your envelope and remembered that blissful day on the lake. We were so young and so in love. No danger had consumed us, nothing tragic had reached us. You looked into my eyes and said you loved me. I could never explain my love for you. It's too complex and so right. You told me you would never leave me; never, Darling. I held onto that and have still not let go. I know you're still here at home. Every night you wrap me in your arms and kiss me softly. Every night I listen to your breathing. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. My lullaby that helps me sleep, even when I can't close my eyes because of all the tears.

Then I wake up. Every morning I stretch my arm to your side of the bed to feel your strength. Every morning I fell nothing, no arm, no strength; just an outstretched arm clutching the blanket that encases me. I wish we could go back to that day on the lake. How I imagine you holding my hand with so much pride. That memory reminds me that everyone was safe before all of this chaos and mayhem.

Darling, I don't think I can make it if you aren't here with me. We were so young, weren't we? I wish we could go back, but I look out the window and see blood staining everything. The blood stains my eyes and my heart. So much blood.

I hope you can remember us when we were young.

Margaret


	10. Chapter 10

Darling,

I can't imagine things going at all well for you over there. Are conditions as unfavorable as they are here? Dead people strewn about everywhere, limbs and heads discarded all over our front lawn. The carrion is so putrid they are killing the weeds. The father shot down the fifth abnormal creature this afternoon. Their little daughter is becoming more anxious by the second. No child should be subject to watching her wounded mother or murderous father.

Lately, she has been asking me to read to her from the Bible. Her favorite story from this Bible is the book of Esther. It truly is quite a remarkable story about a young woman full of strength and courage. I wish I were more like Esther. She protected her people and God. I have discovered how weak I am, but learning more about this God gives me a strange sense of faith, of hope. Yet, I am still unsure if I believe. This Jesus man is still very conspicuous to me.

As for the mother, her wound on her shoulder has grown in size since the attack. Blood and other bodily fluids ooze out of the gash unceasingly. Her skin is still so pale. Darling, I'm not sure she is going to make it. I continue to treat her and provide food and plenty of clean water. The father continues to prove his mettle in protecting all of us from those beasts. He knows he can't lose another one of his family. He always tells me that this is all going to work for the Lord's glory. What good can come out of this? What is happening to us all?

Don not forget: I love you.

Margaret


	11. Chapter 11

Darling,

The mother has died. I found her lying in her bed, wan and eyes open, staring at nothing. I shook her gently a few times but every shake confirmed my worst fear. She was freezing, and so was the room. As if death had just walked out when it finished its job right as I entered. When the father found his deceased wife no emotion spilled out of him. He buried her behind the house with the most expressionless manner I had ever seen. He is not some mortician; he is this woman's husband. Deep, deep denial is eating him alive and since he is not acting in any way I have to comfort his daughter. The man did not even tell his last child about her mother's death, he simply gave her a cold, hard stare and walked away. His heart must have broken more severely because his little girl looks just like her mother.

The daughter is in denial as well as her estranged father. When I had informed her about her mother she became confounded and said to me, "She is not dead. I saw her praying this morning."

Not knowing what to say, I walked into the other room and mourned for the crumbling family. The mother is in a better place now, right? If Jesus is real then she is in Heaven now. I am jealous for her in that regard, but I still hold all my envy back. Sometimes really doubt this Jesus' power. Today I doubt him. He is a cruel, cruel man if he is letting all of this treachery unfold on this innocent and faithful family. Yet, they still pray and are still faithful.

Darling, I am afraid that those corpses are going to find her body and eat her bones.

Margaret


	12. Chapter 12

Darling,

The mother has died. I found her lying in her bed, wan and eyes open, staring at nothing. I shook her gently a few times but every shake confirmed my worst fear. She was freezing, and so was the room. As if death had just walked out when it finished its job right as I entered. When the father found his deceased wife no emotion spilled out of him. He buried her behind the house with the most expressionless manner I had ever seen. He is not some mortician; he is this woman's husband. Deep, deep denial is eating him alive and since he is not acting in any way I have to comfort his daughter. The man did not even tell his last child about her mother's death, he simply gave her a cold, hard stare and walked away. His heart must have broken more severely because his little girl looks just like her mother.

The daughter is in denial as well as her estranged father. When I had informed her about her mother she became confounded and said to me, "She is not dead. I saw her praying this morning."

Not knowing what to say, I walked into the other room and mourned for the crumbling family. The mother is in a better place now, right? If Jesus is real then she is in Heaven now. I am jealous for her in that regard, but I still hold all my envy back. Sometimes really doubt this Jesus' power. Today I doubt him. He is a cruel, cruel man if he is letting all of this treachery unfold on this innocent and faithful family. Yet, they still pray and are still faithful.

Darling, I am afraid that those corpses are going to find her body and eat her bones.

Margaret


	13. Chapter 13

Dear Darling,

Come home now, I am alone in this house. If I leave I will be eaten alive, if I stay I am in danger of being killed by these crazies. Tell your commander that you are needed home. Who gives a damn if this means a dishonorable discharge, I am in distress. The two faltering people with me in this house are becoming hostile. There are bruises tracing my arms and throat. What did I do to deserve this abuse? Darling, I cannot defend myself from these demons much longer. And they claim that they have this God. This man and his daughter don't even know they are sinning. I have prayed to Jesus to protect me, but these bruises are only turning darker colors and pain only sharpens within me.

A few hours ago three corpses broke down our beautiful front door and went after the daughter. A blessing it was that the father found his shotgun quickly and blasted off their heads. Unfortunately, our exquisite blue and white vase was blown to bits by bad aiming. That was the last thing in this house that bears any vibrant color. All that is left in the rainbow is red, which is blood staining the wall and the floors. The spark in the father's eyes when he shot those bodies was not right. Flecks of blood accompanied his wild stare as he dragged the corpses outside and fixed our door.

Now you see why you need to come home, Darling. This man is crazier than the dead ghosts outside. He is going to kill us.

The small voice told me not to be afraid. Then how come I can find no courage?

Margaret


	14. Chapter 14

Darling,

Remember, if I had a terrible dream you would cradle me to your heart and say to forget? You never asked me what it was about, you never wanted to know. Listening to your calm heartbeat make me forget the whole nightmare. Well, last night I had an awful dream and I am unable to erase it from my mind.

The mother was standing at the foot of our bed staring at me. The room was dark but her figure was darker. She wore the same thick nightgown she died in and her long hair hung from her head. It was her corpse. In the darkness I could make out the blood staring on her swollen shoulder and cascading down her back, her chest, and into her hair. Her cream nightgown had become filthy with dirt and blood. All she did was stare, and all I could do was pray. I was so sure she was going to attack like one of those monsters. I shut my eyes when I saw her move. It took all my courage to open my eyes again, and when I did I awoke to a dark, empty room. I was absolutely certain that this nightmare was real, I dared venture outside to check the mother's grave. When I quietly emerged into the dank night's air the moon illuminated everything.

I forgot how ugly this world had become. Wasting no time, I made my way to the mother's grave. Darling, this is no dream. The grave was thrashed and dug up. Her body had been stolen; or eaten. Imminent danger creeped up my shivering legs and I ran back inside. The father met me at our back door and told me I should never go outside. I haven't felt the earth's breath in weeks. I nodded and went back to bed in the stuffy, airless house.

Please, write back. I need to feel your heart beat so I can forget.

Margaret


	15. Chapter 15

My Darling,

This has been the best morning in so long, because I received your precious letter. My heart leaped inside my chest just the same as when I first met you all those years ago. How young we were. I understand the busy work you are required to endure, but I appreciate your willing to tell your commander about home. I am still praying for your safe return. That small but strong voice told that you will not come home, again. I still ignore that absurd statement. That fragile, yet powerful, voice did tell me it was Jesus, also. A piece of doubt wants me to disagree but I know it is him. The dead man is speaking to me; I promise I am not going crazy.

I informed the father and his daughter together about the vacant grave. They both looked at each other and back at me. Their comments made me feel so small. The father shouted insults of stupidity in my face.

"How can you think of my wife is dead?" He kept saying loudly.

"I see her praying in her room every morning," the daughter said to me.

I checked the entire house for the mother, but she was nowhere. All I could think about was that dream. What if that was reality? What if she is still alive; or what if she is one of those walking corpses? Sometimes when I'm alone I hear shallow breathing whispering from behind me. Every time I turn around I'm only met with my shaky breaths.

Darling, the end is coming. For me, for you, for this family. The main thing I am concerned about is who will be going to Heaven and who will be burning in Hell? That still voice tells me I will meet him in Heaven, but doubt still ensnares me.

With compassionate love,

Margaret


End file.
